


The Gift

by Heavyheadedgal



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, feel-good crack fic, mild psychic abilities, post-season 3, total silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6042028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavyheadedgal/pseuds/Heavyheadedgal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Butler prepares for Miss Fisher's return from England.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> This is almost certainly the result of too much cold medication, but it just wanted to be written.

As Tobias Butler blinked himself awake, the sunlight filtering through his curtains, he knew he had a full day ahead of him. After a cup of tea and toast, he went to the market for provisions. He bought potatoes, waxy and firm, fresh peas in their pods, thick mushrooms, rosy shallots, and brown eggs, still warm from the hen. He stopped at the butchers and selected a succulent middle-cut of tenderloin, and a glistening pile of chicken livers. The travellers would be famished when they arrived, and a beef wellington never went amiss. The meat and pastry could be prepared in the morning, leaving him time to arrange the house. It would need an airing, the sheets pulled off the furniture, a good sweep with the broom. He’d call on Dot on his way back, to see if she was able to assist him. But first, a stop in the chemist’s, for shaving cream, a brush, and a new razor.

He had been enjoying his unexpected sabbatical from his duties. He missed his employer, of course; and it was rather quiet without Jane to chatter at him, or Bert and Cec cadging a meal. Even Dorothy – Mrs. Collins, now—had moved into her own flat with her new husband. Miss Fisher had insisted Tobias close up the house and take some much deserved leave.  A working man all his life, he knew such opportunities were rare. For nearly seven months Tobias had had little to do besides a regular round of dusting, and ensuring the place was secured against opportunistic burglars. He had spent his leisure time keeping busy, to ward off thoughts of Annie, and how she would have enjoyed this interlude with him. He brushed up on his target practice, checking that his guns were still in working order. He went to the football matches, and the pictures. He caught up on his reading – before his departure, Inspector Robinson had very kindly lent him a few volumes of Zane Grey, and Tobias was enjoying them immensely. He even did some fishing.

He took tea regularly with Mrs. Collins, still glowing with the pride of a newlywed. He was glad she had taken his advice to rent; it would take them longer to afford a house, but a young couple had enough adjustments to make without the looming presence of a disapproving mother-in-law. The flat was tiny, but neat as a pin. Tobias had wanted to host Dorothy and Hugh to dinner, but she said the sight of the Wardlow, mostly shuttered and dark, made her tearful.

Having finished at the chemist’s, Tobias debated buying a bottle of wine. There were plenty of fine reds in the cellar, to accompany dinner, but perhaps the occasion called for champagne as well. His shopping basket was heavy; and he would have to restock the seltzer water. He had intended to spend this morning repairing a drip in the kitchen faucet that had recently developed. But he knew, when he woke, that they’d be back in that very evening, and changed his plans accordingly. He was used to doing so.

Tobias Butler was a man of many talents, and _knowing_ was one of them. He’d always known things, ever since could remember; his mother said it was because he was born with a caul on his face. “It’s a gift,” his mother told him, when he was a little boy. He would wake crying in the night from dreams he didn’t understand, and Ma would hold him and hush his tears. “You have the Sight, Toby. Just like your auntie, and your granddad, and his mother, and her mother before her.” Ma told the story of how The Gift ran in their family, reciting it like a fairy tale. It was different with each of them, but every generation had someone touched with the Sight. Auntie Maud could speak to the dead, quite casually. She didn’t go in for the table-rapping or candles that modern day Spiritualists found necessary. “Granny Toogood says she doesn’t approve of Tom’s new wife,” Auntie Maud would say, as if Granny Toogood were next door and not stone dead these 40 years. People would bring her an item that had belonged to their dead relative, a watch, or a hat, and Auntie Maud would tip her head, just a like a dog, as if she was listening to a voice whispering in her ear. Then she would tell her client what their deceased relative said, even if they didn’t like hearing it.

Granddad had been the village cunning man, back home in the old country. “He could heal with his hands,” Ma explained. And he had a way with animals. A vicious dog, or a horse that wouldn’t take the saddle, would be as gentle as a lamb once he spoke to it. Folk nodded to him in the street, but avoided his company, if they could help it – a cunning man was _respected_ , but not entirely _respectable_. But still they would come to his family’s cottage, taking the long way round, after church, or when the sun set, and he would fix their problems in return for a favour, or a sack of potatoes, or a few pennies. That was the way of things, in their family. There was even, Ma claimed, a something-great grandmother who’d been hung for a witch in King James’ time.

Back in the Wardlow’s kitchen, Tobias dusted flour on the table and started on the pastry. It would chill while he seared the meat. He already had most of the windows in the house open, to let the breeze in.

Tobias’ Gift wasn’t as impressive as his Auntie Maud’s, or as useful as his granddad’s. It was mostly a _knowing_ , right before something was needed, or about to happen. As if he was living 5 minutes in the future of everyone around him. Sometimes, when he spoke to a person, he would have a vision—a spell, his Ma called it – brief, and intense, and he would know something about them that they could not, for it wasn’t true, not yet.

 Often his Gift came as a dream, more vivid and realistic than normal dreams. They usually only made sense after the event he had dreamed had happened. As a boy he had regularly dreamt of doing schoolwork for classes he hadn’t taken yet. Once, he spent a whole night watching himself mend a tear in his AIF uniform, years before he’d ever seen South Africa. There had been a recurring nightmare throughout 1913, of a wealthy lady and a man in a faintly ridiculous feathered hat, walking towards an automobile (he could never understand why such an innocuous picture woke him, sweating with a sense of dread, until he read the newspaper account of the assassination of the Archduke and his wife). He’d had a tremendous sense of déjà vu when he first met Annie, and realized he had once dreamed of her laugh. And of course, there had been a dream of a woman with a severe black bob and an infectious grin, asking him for more champagne: Miss Fisher. When he first saw the kitchen table at the Wardlow, he recognized it, and resolved to clean and check each of his guns, as clearly they would be required at some point, though why a respectable spinster would require an arsenal, he couldn’t say. But he remembered seeing his collection laid out on that table, while dozing on a long train journey.

So it was no great surprise to Tobias that when he first met Senior Detective Inspector Robinson, he knew the man was in love with Miss Fisher. Or rather, he _would_ be. As Tobias took the Inspector’s hat and coat, he had suddenly and quite vividly seen Miss Fisher smiling, stepping into the Inspector’s embrace as he kissed her passionately (why were they in a field? Perhaps she was returning from a journey?). He’d made a mental note to remember the Inspector’s likes and dislikes.

Lost in thought, Tobias brought out a tin of silver polish. The seasoned beef was resting in the oven. He put down the candelabra he was working on when he heard Dorothy’s knock on the kitchen door.

“Have you had a telegram from Miss Phryne, then, Mr. Butler?” Dot asked as she removed her hat and gloves. “Her last letter said she was on her way home, but she didn’t mention the date of her arrival.”

“I’m not entirely certain Miss Fisher _is_ returning this evening, Dorothy, but it never hurts to be prepared.” He smiled at her affectionately. “Now, why I don’t I make us some luncheon and we can discuss how best to arrange matters here.”

 After their meal, Dorothy took over the sweeping and the silver polishing, and Tobias set about uncovering the furniture. One by one the sofa, piano, and armchairs appeared. There wasn’t enough time to polish the wood, but at least they were free from dust. He would ask Dot to select the best of the remaining roses for the vase in the parlour. On impulse, he put the wireless on, and bouncy jazz rhythms filled the house.  Tobias whistled along to the melody. Gradually, the Wardlow began to wake up from her hibernation.

Though his mother called it The Gift, and said it was from God, Tobias had long since stopped believing any such thing. It was too erratic, and too vague to be of much help to anyone. It was, if anything, more of a nuisance (and no use at all when it came to gambling). He had had some helpful insights during his time in the AIF, but the chain of command had proven to be an obstacle. One couldn’t suggest to one’s superior officer that the bridge 30 miles ahead was washed out, simply because he had seen it while brushing his teeth that morning. He never seemed to understand the message when he saw something significant, and the trivial insights were frustrating at best. 

And when Annie had passed, suddenly and inexplicably, he’d had no warning at all, no way to prevent her from taking that doomed train to visit her sister.

He shook the ever-present grief over Annie from his mind as he laid out two sets of fresh towels in Miss Fisher’s bathroom. He arranged the shaving supplies on the small shelf next to the sink. It wasn’t until he came to work for Miss Fisher that his talent finally seemed to have a practical application. Given her eccentric lifestyle, his ability to anticipate her needs was immensely valuable. He knew some people looked down on a life in service, but Tobias took great pleasure in maintaining a home for this remarkable woman, and her colourful circle of intimates. At the Wardlow, he learned to trust his impulses, for he could never anticipate how they would fit into the controlled chaos that was the world of Miss Fisher. He knew when a fresh round of cocktails was required, and when they very much were not. He was able to keep the Hispano fuelled and ready at a moment’s notice, simply by trusting that sense of knowing. Once, while at the Myer Emporium on quite another errand, he had been moved to purchase a set of men’s blue silk pyjamas. They weren’t his size, and he couldn’t begin to explain why he had done it, but they had turned out to be very useful when Inspector had that unfortunate incident with the Baron’s nerve tonic.

Descending the staircase, he met Dorothy in the dining room, where she was putting the finishing touches on a floral arrangement. She was singing along to the wireless. The sight of her filled him with an almost paternal affection.

“What time does Hugh’s shift end today?” he asked. “Do you have time for a cup of tea before you need to head home?”

“Of course, Mr. Butler! Tea would be lovely. Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can help you with?”

“Everything’s done that can be, I think. There's time for a chat before I start preparing the dinner.”

“But Mr. Butler, what if she isn’t back this evening after all?”

“Well,” he shrugged. “Then I shall have a very nice meal indeed.”

 

The beef was roasting nicely, the table laid with crisp linen, the champagne chilling in a bucket of ice, when Mr. Butler heard footsteps, and voices coming towards the front door. He couldn’t help but feel rather pleased with himself when he saw the astonished look on Miss Fisher’s face as he opened the door. She and the Inspector stared at him for three full seconds without speaking. She had her door keys in her hand; the Inspector blinked at him.

“Evening, Miss, Inspector. Welcome home.” He gestured to the suitcases at their feet. “Shall I take your luggage up?”

“But Mr. B!” sputtered Miss Fisher. She strode into the foyer, and stared around at the warm and inviting house. “Do you mean to say you were expecting us? _Both_ of us?” She seemed at a loss for words. The Inspector was trying to suppress a smile.

“Indeed, Miss. Dinner will be ready at seven. Would you and the Inspector care for a cocktail in parlour? Or there’s champagne, if you’d prefer.”

“But -- we hardly knew ourselves we’d be home today! There was no chance to send a wire ahead. How on earth could you know when we were arriving?“

“Oh, well,” Tobias said, “A little bird told me, Miss.”  He smiled.

 

 

 


End file.
